


Shedding Season

by alderations



Series: Peapod McHanzo Week [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff, Fur, M/M, Okami Hanzo Shimada, Peapod McHanzo Week, Travel, Werewolf Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 03:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: Of course, Jesse had warned him of just how hot New Mexico can get, and Hanzo had assured him that his thick okami pelt was suited to all sorts of weather.Hanzo hasn't left the mountains of Hanamura in a long time, and he's forgotten how fast his summer coat comes in.





	Shedding Season

Since they boarded the plane in Tokyo, Hanzo has been scratching at his head every thirty seconds, almost on the dot.

 

Jesse wasn’t concerned at first, since Hanzo is fairly anxious around any sort of public transportation, much less the kind that flies. But after several hours, he’s started scratching in his sleep as they cruise over the Pacific, his head tilted against Jesse’s shoulder and their hands entwined between the seats. Already, Jesse has surreptiteously checked his head for lice, then spent several minutes running his hands through Hanzo’s long, white hair—clean as ever, unblemished, with no indication that anything is wrong with his scalp, other than the few coarse hairs that come loose in his hands. Hanzo has a  _ ton  _ of hair, so that’s not unusual. Jesse puts his worries aside as they start to descend hours later, since they’ll have a long afternoon ahead.

 

From airport shuttle to rental car to another, sketchier rental car, they make their way from Los Angeles to the outskirts of Santa Fe. Jesse never considered just how strange it would feel to be home, even if it was barely a home to begin with, even if he doesn’t really remember where he grew up pre-Deadlock. If he stops and concentrates for a moment, he can smell the other wolves milling around the area. Old packmates, maybe; he hopes not. Even if they were to pose any threat, his mate is as powerful as the whole city put together, so Jesse has no reason to fear.

 

He does, however, fear for the state of Hanzo’s skin, since the  _ okami _ has escalated from the occasional scratch at his scalp to dragging half-sharp nails across every inch of his head and neck that he can reach. The red streaks on his throat make Jesse want to whimper. Instead, he leans a little too hard on the gas pedal as they drive into the desert outside the city, heading for the old safehouse that Genji claimed to have visited and refurbished a few months ago. Here, regardless of being in the middle of Deadlock territory, they’ll be safe from the remaining Shimadas who nearly tracked them right into their den above Hanamura.

 

Hanzo whines in frustration as they unpack the car, stopping every few minutes to scratch his head as hard as he can without making himself bleed, which isn’t very hard given that his fingers are quickly becoming claws. “We really can’t be gallumphin’ around as wolves until we get the lay of the land, sweetheart,” Jesse reminds him gently.

 

“I’m trying.” Hanzo’s voice barely grits between his clenched teeth.

 

The sky is deep black and twinkling with the brilliance of the Milky Way by the time the house is in order. Jesse whips up some sandwiches for them with the last of their supplies from Hanamura; thankfully, Genji left the house stocked with canned beans and the like, knowing that Jesse can make a meal from anything he damn well likes. Hanzo eats in tiny, snappish bites in between bouts of scratching furiously at his head. On the other side of the sofa, Jesse tries to ignore the tufts of silvery-cream hair drifting to the floor between them.

 

“Are you gonna be able to sleep?” he finally asks, when they’re clambering into bed in their boxers and Hanzo is, for once, not reaching for him with all four limbs.

 

Hanzo is already too busy tossing and turning to answer right away. Once he settles down to some extent, though still visibly wincing, he looks up at Jesse. “I will be fine.”

 

“I hate to be rude, Han,” he presses, “but, uh. Are you allergic to airplanes, or…?”

 

“I’m allergic to hot  _ fucking  _ weather,” Hanzo hisses. His scowl returns in full force as he starts scratching at his head yet again, and then he turns away from Jesse and curls up under the covers like an irritable child.

 

Jesse is utterly confused. He lies down next to Hanzo, facing the opposite way to give his mate some space, and tries to remember any mention of why Hanzo could possibly act this way upon reaching the Southwest. In Hanamura, in their cold and bare-bones den, he had seemed ecstatic at the idea of visiting Jesse’s homeland. Of course, Jesse had warned him of just how hot New Mexico can get, and Hanzo had assured him that his thick  _ okami _ pelt was suited to all sorts of weather.

 

And here they are. Hanzo doesn’t stop moving for the entire night, and Jesse sleeps in fits and spurts. He’s starting to wonder if Hanzo’s mad at him, if he did something wrong, and he wants to cry because he told Hanzo,  _ I always want to know if I’ve hurt you, darlin’, I want to treat you the best I can,  _ and maybe Hanzo has been lying to him and he doesn’t want to be here and they’re going to fight and he’ll be a lone wolf all over again and—

 

He jolts awake from another set of uncomfortable dreams, and finds the other side of the bed empty. Thick locks of silver hair cover the mattress, trailing almost comically from the bed to the door of their room, though—if the dawn light isn’t fucking with Jesse—they turn from greyish to a warmer, paler white halfway across the floor. Closer to Hanzo’s wolf fur. “Honey?” Jesse calls, trying to stifle his racing heart. “Is something—are we in danger? Where are you?”

 

Just outside the door, he hears the kind of long-suffering sigh that only a canine can truly master.

 

Jesse stumbles out of bed and into the living room of the safehouse, desperately fighting the nauseous fear in his chest. If Hanzo has been found out here as a wolf, they’ll rip him to shreds. Or try, at least. Native werewolf blood runs strong, but they’re no  _ okami.  _ He flips on the light and starts throwing couch cushions every which-way, as if Hanzo were somehow hiding inside the furniture, before he turns toward the door and finds… well, a wolf. The wolf looks enough like Hanzo: snowy fur, sharp amber eyes, faint yellow markings on the cheeks; but where Hanzo is massive and fluffy, this wolf is scrawny and more leg than anything else. As Jesse watches, it grumbles under its breath and starts chewing at the base of its tail, pulling out tufts of scraggly fur.

 

“Hanzo?”

 

The wolf’s head jerks around to look at him. Those eyes are right, certainly, and Hanzo’s ears flatten against his head with an uncharacteristic whimper. It’s unlike him to act so nervous in Jesse’s presence, but then again, Jesse warned him over and over again to stay human for as long as he could manage, and Hanzo had clearly given up. While Jesse approaches, hands out and palms up to soothe Hanzo, he eyes the fur scattered all over the floor, the furniture, even spots on the walls. “I should’ve known, sugar. I didn’t even think about you blowin’ your coat.”

 

Hanzo gives him the most deadpan look that a wolf can manage, but his ears perk up and he starts to stand as Jesse shifts then and there.  _ I thought we were supposed to stay human until we explored the area? _

 

Snuffling around his neck and licking at his ears, Jesse herds Hanzo back toward the bedroom.  _ Not until you’re comfortable. That comes first. _

 

It takes nearly the entire day for Jesse to strip the loose fur from Hanzo’s coat, and by then the  _ okami  _ is sleeping soundly at the foot of their bed, blissfully unaware of the massive pile of fur slowly accumulating on the floor next to them. Jesse doesn’t want to think about all the vacuuming he’ll have to do once this is over. At least Hanzo won’t be so cranky, though, and he knows now that he didn’t do anything wrong. His heart still skips a beat at the thought.

 

He wants to hear the words out loud, and besides, they really should try to stay human, so he shifts once again before rolling Hanzo onto his back and waking him gently. “I jus’ needed to tell you, sweet thing,” he chuckles to his groggy mate, “that I love you more than anything.”

 

Those golden eyes go wide, and Hanzo shifts below him—slower than Jesse, a bit creepier, but also elegant in his own way. Where the thin, patchy fur of his summer coat recedes, a close-cropped haircut replaces it, and even though Jesse’s used to seeing Hanzo with massive braids and hair down to his butt, the breath is torn from his lungs at the sight of Hanzo looking so handsome, so summery, like he belongs here in Jesse’s homeland.

 

“I love you just as much,” Hanzo murmurs, still gruff from sleep. He sits up and kisses Jesse’s slack-jawed mouth, then scratches at his head one last time. And then he sees the pile of fluff on the floor. “What the fuck.”

 

“What? Have you never shed like this before?”

 

Hanzo considers for a moment, head tilted to one side just like he does as a wolf. “It has been a long time. I have not had the need for my summer coat in the mountains. And you—why aren’t you like this?”

 

Jesse chuckles at the accusation in his voice. “Weather don’t change much down here. Cold nights, hot days. I’ve got a nice, all-purpose coat, not like you tundra folks.”

 

“Hmph.” For a moment, Jesse worries that he really has upset Hanzo, but then the  _ okami _ turns to bury his face in Jesse’s shoulder. “We should start carrying all this… hair into the yard. It will make some bird’s day.”

 

“More like a hundred birds.”

 

“We will buy a bird feeder. Maybe a nest box.”

 

Good God, his mate is wonderful, even when he’s cranky and itchy and jetlagged. “Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
